The Bunk Bed Diaries
by AnaG
Summary: Bella needs a roommate to share a pair of bunk beds with; Edward needs a place to stay. Will they turn into something more than caring voices in the dark? AU AH, a fluffy two-part one shot dedicated to Pipappear.
1. Chapter 1

**This is the first part of a two-part one shot.**

**To my Emmy, for being my voice in the dark. Thank you for everything! I hope you enjoy :)***

~*~

_Bella_

It's past 10 pm on a Sunday, so I'm giving up.

I posted the add on last Friday's newspaper - but still, I got a handful of answers, mostly callers. Only one girl had actually come to see the apartment, and her seedy looks and general disregard for hygiene made me think twice about sharing the house with her.

In all honesty, you can't even call it a house. That's probably the reason why I can't find anyone to split it with.

The overall state of it isn't so bad, as the old landlord keeps trotting up and down the stairs with his toolbox and, occasionally, some paint. But still, who would want to share a one bedroom, one bathroom apartment with a closet-size kitchen?

Not just one bedroom - technically, one bed. Isn't it sad that I can't even afford the smallest apartment in Chicago? That I have to recur to renting vertical space I don't have?

The bunk beds came with the place - as, according to my landlord, it used to be the home of two sisters that had married their way into wealthier neighborhoods.

_Note to self: start wearing things with plunging necklines. And shaving more often._

Sitting at the bottom bed, which I'd always occupied, I start taking off my jacket, shoulders sloping. When I'd left Phoenix in search for greener pastures, this wasn't exactly what I had in mind. A full time job and some serious expense control are barely enough to make ends meet.

_I'll have to take up a second job, _I think to myself, defeated. And just after I lean back to go to sleep, without the strength to change, I hear a knock at the door - something I'm not completely sure didn't come from my imagination.

~*~

_Edward_

Seven days. Seven complete days, from start to finish, were spent running around this city, trying to find a roof to crawl under. I tried everything - newspaper adds, word of mouth, agencies... And nothing.

Out of the hundreds of homes available, there wasn't _one _that I could simultaneously afford and actually believe I could live in.

I know it's late on a Sunday and I know I'm not even supposed to be answering this add, but, at this point, I just need somewhere to sleep. I start a new job tomorrow morning - if I don't get things straightened out tonight, I won't make it. Which means I'll have to start looking for something else entirely.

_I can't afford being unemployed for another week._

I'm doing this because I'm desperate. There's no other way. Just be honest, and if it doesn't work out... I'm screwed.

Shrugging, I suck it up and knock. For a couple of seconds, there's no answer, but then I hear it, just a whisper of hope.

"I'm coming."

The door opens in front of me, bathing me in a strong stream of yellow light, and I recoil instinctively, blinking to protect my eyes. There's a small woman at the threshold, which is about as much as I can distinguish, and it's her voice I hear.

"Yes?"

"I'm here because of an ad... To share a one bedroom apartment?" I start, as more of a question, embarrassed.

"Well... yes, come in," she invites, and I step inside, immediately taking in the place with my eyes.

It's a small space, just a room with one south-facing window, a small kitchen to the left and two doors in the wall opposite, probably the closet and the bathroom. It's very well kept and has a cozy feel to it, so unlike most apartments I'd visited.

_Please make this work,_ I plead to myself, eyeing the bunk bed and dreaming awake of a sound night's sleep.

I turn to find the small woman examining me, a crease between her eyebrows.

"I'm sorry about the time, I've been looking at places all day..." I address her, thinking being kind won't get me in any trouble.

"Oh, are you helping out a friend or family member?" she inquires, rightfully, and I bite the inside of my cheek.

"No, it's... Listen, I know the add said women only... But I'm beyond desperate at this point, I have to start working tomorrow morning..."

Her eyes widen and she just starts shaking her head.

"No. Absolutely not."

~*~

_Bella_

_What?!_

If that wouldn't make me look like a complete idiot in front of this man, I would be shaking my closed fist at the skies.

_I know I said I needed a roommate - this is not what I meant, though, damn it!_

There are just too many things wrong with it.

Sharing a bedroom with a perfect stranger is bad enough, but a man? A good looking man, at that?

"Please listen to me," he asks, running his hand through his savage mop of hair. "I swear I am good for the rent. I'll spend my days out working, I just need a place where I can have my things and sleep. I won't be noisy - I don't even snore - and I always pick up after myself. I'll take care of the cleaning, whatever you want. Just think of me as a really tall woman with big feet and a need to shave. _Please."_

Contrary to what I should be doing, I laugh.

"It's just... It's a bunk bed. You won't have any privacy..." I counter, but he just waves his hands in front of me frantically.

"That's not a problem. I can see you took the bottom one - I'll take the top. No running around naked, and of course I'll respect your space."

In spite of his assurances, I have my doubts, and he can see me waver.

"Look... worst case scenario, you kick me out in a couple of weeks, right?" he asks me, all big green puppy eyes and manly smell.

"Well... I'm Bella Swan," I give in, extending my hand.

"Edward Cullen," he smiles in charming relief, encompassing my hand in his.

_Good. Always a positive thing, knowing the name of the man I'll be sleeping under._

~*~

_Edward_

It's been four weeks since I moved in, just the clothes on my back and a gym bag full of dirty laundry, and it looks like my life did an 180. Working on the little blues bar downtown won't turn me into a millionaire any time soon, but I'm a diligent worker and I can tell my boss is impressed - enough so to dangle a management position in front of my eyes.

That's a first.

It's also a first to come home every night to a warm, sweet smelling apartment. Granted, I'm on my best behavior - Bella didn't deserve to live with the asshole who didn't care enough to change his sheets every week. I even made it my mission to keep the bathroom spotless and occupy only a portion of the space she designated for "my stuff."

She leaves every morning for work at the ungodly hour of six, something only half my brain registers while the other one shushes me and tells me to go dream some more. By the time I come home, at half past two am, she's sound asleep in her nook below my bed, dark hair spread on her pillow and the soft breathing sounds of a cat.

Sometimes she mumbles in her sleep - something I'll never mention, or she'll throw me out on the grounds of being creepy.

It's nice to see her, to exchange a couple of pleasantries about my day, or even just discuss practical stuff surrounding the bills. The company, above all, is wonderful.

It doesn't hurt that she's beautiful.

The thought makes me pause, key on my hand as I'm ready to open the door. I can't think about her this way, or it'll mess up the light, easy relationship we have. It'll mess up the relative happiness and stability I've so recently achieved.

Taking a big breath and shrugging, I walk in, and am immediately surprised to see the lights on.

"Hey."

~*~

_Bella_

I'm never actually awake by the time he comes home, which is good. I've handled enough of his shirts to know what they smell like after he wears them to work - the dull and acrid smell of smoke, not quite enough to erase the fresh hint of his soap.

It's just about enough to make me want to hop up into his bed in his absence and wrap myself with his blanket. Which I don't do, no matter how much I need a pick me up. No matter how many times I got yelled at, working at the hospital.

In a good day, family members lose their temper while waiting for news and I try my best to be proactive and calm them down. But certain days... Certain days I get yelled at by the doctors, the nurses, my co-workers, and just every unhappy bastard that suddenly remembers he can dump his anger on the unsuspecting receptionist.

I'm thinking about quitting - an idea I've toyed with for quite some time - and work less hours, dedicate myself to writing. My manuscript is as complete as I'll ever deem it, just a document on my laptop's desktop, reminding me of how much of a chicken I am for not submitting it to someone who might actually consider publishing the damn thing.

Today was a bad day - in fact, I think I need to see the doctor myself. My hearing might have been permanently impaired. And all I can do to wash away the poisonous memory of long hours in a hideous uniform is write away. Just write my guts out.

And, apparently, I'm absorbed enough to still be writing by the time he comes home.

"Hey," he greets me, smiling. _And there's that smell..._

"Hi," I answer, a bit self-conscious about being caught in my pajamas, lying on my stomach and typing away. "How was work?"

"It was nice, actually. We had a lot of dinner reservations, so we closed the doors as soon as the floor was filled."

I frown.

"Then what was left for the expert bartender to do?" I ask him, wishing he won't tell me that doing nothing is his idea of a good day at work. I hate lazy men.

Not that he falls into the category of men I could actually like to begin with. Not in that way.

~*~

_Edward_

Sometimes, I'm sure I can't read this woman, and this is one of them. I told her my night was nice and smooth, uncrowded, and she just frowned up another question, as if disgusted by the perspective of standing still.

I'm in the bathroom, just a crack of the door is open and I can see through it as I take my shirt off - she's dangling her pale legs in the air, all nervous energy and sparks, even though it's three am and she needs to be out the door in three hours. And I know she was up at six this morning as well.

"I played," I finally answer, the sound undoubtedly muffled by the door and the t-shirt as I slip it over my head. "They have a little piano there..."

"You play the piano?"

This question is shy, and the laptop is abandoned over the bedspread - I can't hear her nimble fingers' incessant attack on the keys anymore.

"I had daily lessons when I was a kid. I enjoy it, even if I'm not very good."

I leave the bathroom, shutting the lights behind me, as she puts the old, scratched laptop away. Time to sleep.

I'm immersed in soft cotton and the sweet burn of exhaustion between my shoulders, not to the point of discomfort, tells me it should be easy to fall asleep.

But it isn't.

She's not asleep either, I just know it. She's unnaturally still, unnaturally quiet, and the lulling kittenish breaths aren't there.

"Edward?" I hear her voice, just a whisper that wouldn't even reach my ears if I weren't already hyper aware.

"Yes?"

"Why do you spend your nights pouring whiskey and mixing Cosmos?"

I'm caught off-guard, and stare at the ceiling as if, suddenly, I could read into the non-existent patterns the right answer to give her.

"Just forget who I am. Just think of me as a voice in the dark, nothing else," she insists.

_A voice in the dark. _I like the idea.

~*~

_Bella_

He breaks through his hesitance - or, at least, that's how it seems - and starts talking.

"I was this... alpha-geek in High School. Focused, completely self-absorbed - I just wanted to get into a nice College, show my parents I could make it. I was so focused on grades I never really noticed they had stopped talking to each other."

I cringe, at ease, knowing he can't see it.

"They got a divorce?"

"Worse. They didn't. I had to walk into a coffee shop near my house and see my father with his girlfriend to finally notice something was wrong. And then, it just... stopped mattering as much as it had. My grades... my chance at a good university. It came to a point where I honestly didn't know what I was doing."

"You didn't go to college," I state, understanding what he's telling me.

"No, I didn't," he answers me, and there's a smile somewhere in his words. "And I don't regret it, either. I discovered more about myself this way than I would have in hundreds of keg parties."

"How about music? You seem passionate about that."

"Music doesn't pay the rent," he proclaims, the sound of defeat if I ever heard it.

I recognize my own dilemmas in his words, mirrored back to me with frightening precision, and I reach up to touch the wooden boards, running my fingers through them, wishing I could touch him.

"One day," I whisper.

"Maybe," he whispers back, surprising me. "Go to sleep, Bella. I'll see you tomorrow."

~*~

_Edward_

Opening up about my life, no matter how briefly, leaves me strangely calm, and I'm asleep before I know it.

I'm brought back to consciousness against my best efforts, because something feels wrong. _Too much light..._

There's too much light in the room and I haven't woken up yet. Which means...

Giving myself whiplash, I sit in bed and grab the edge of the wooden structure, looking down to Bella's.

_She's still asleep._

It's probably mid-morning, and the realization that she's missing work hits me in the gut, along with the guilt for keeping her awake for so damn long yesterday.

I jump down, landing badly on one foot and letting out a string of profanities. Bella remains deep asleep, completely oblivious, face turned to me.

"Bella... Bella! Wake up, you're late... Oh, shit," I add, seeing the time on her little cell phone. "You're really, _really _late, you need to wake up..."

My yelling is pointless, as she keeps on sleeping right through, a cute little pout on her lips.

_How mad can she be about me touching her? How mad will she be if I don't and she misses work?_

I hold a breath and lean on top of her, my hands on her flannel clad shoulders, and I try shaking her a little.

She just slurs something about horses and smiles, twisting her body beneath me.

_Oh, boy. She'll definitely be mad at me for this._

~*~

_Bella_

I'm dreaming of a redheaded man, just hoisting me up to his saddle, as if I was made of feathers, so I can go riding with him. I can feel the warmth of his hands, and I smile, thinking of how wonderful this dream is.

All of a sudden I can feel him kiss me - a touch that was meant to be brief - but I won't let him slip away. I put my arms around his neck and hold him there so I can enjoy his plump lips at will.

_In my dreams, I can do as I wish._

But something is wrong, he's not cooperating. I can feel his hands trying to pry my arms away and he's pulling back.

I frown. _This isn't going according to plan._

I open my eyes against my will, and there he is. The redheaded man.

Only he looks scared shitless, there's no horse, and I'm lying down... In my room?

_Edward! Oh my God!_

I shriek and jump towards the wall, as fast as my still latent body allows.

He steps away, covering his eyes with one hand, another one on his hip, and sighs loudly.

"I needed to wake you up. You're late for work," he tells me, and even if this isn't quite enough to break through my mortification, it surely helps with getting me to move.

"I am?"

I move to check the time, hurrying, grab a few pieces of clothing and lock myself inside the bathroom, hyperventilating.

_It's not that bad. It was just the most... embarrassing situation ever, and I'll get to relive it every time I come home. Great._

_~*~_

_Edward_

I knew kissing her was a bad idea. A very bad idea. _But you still went through with it, genius._

At least she's awake now, I can hear the shower water running.

_She has good reason to kick me out._

The thought makes me sad beyond belief, and it doesn't even have anything to do with the way she kissed me, dripping sweetness and roaring demand of a tiger in a kitten's body.

_Go ahead, tie that noose a little tighter, asshole._

I crawl back into bed, wide awake, trying to hide, and she leaves with nothing but a mumbled goodbye my way.

~*~

_Bella_

I end up catching a cab to the hospital, wanting to get there as early as possible so I can hear my shouted admonishment and go back to work.

Not daydream about that kiss. At all.

I'm two hours late by the time I get to my workstation, which, all considered, isn't so bad, and I just immerse myself in it, hoping no one important noticed.

No such luck.

"It's always exciting to see such a dedicated worker show up, Ms Swan," I hear, and close my eyes, a feeble attempt at willing him away, "whichever time you decide to visit, of course."

"I'm so sorry, Dr. Jackson," I start, bowed head and begging. _Screw pride. _"It will never happen again, I'll make up for the two hours this afternoon."

"I have a better idea. Shelley called in sick, so we're short one person on the afternoon shift. It's yours."

I just look at him, mouth agape.

_I missed two hours of work and you're making me work a double shift?_

Everyone comes in late once in a while. Everyone but me, until today. And no one ever even offers to compensate for the delay - I did, and this is how I'm rewarded.

I can see the guy in the mustard-colored jacket, his weasel-like eyes already aimed at me, and I know what's coming. In about eight seconds, he'll start ranting about the enforcement of visiting hours. He's done so all week, ever since his wife was admitted with a broken pelvis.

I'm seething. All the hateful words every idiot has ever spat at me come boiling to the surface.

_That's it. I'm through._

I don't even care if writing is what the future has in store for me or not. Honestly, at the moment, I don't care.

"Hey, Dr. Jackass," I spit, standing up. "I quit. No two weeks notice. Sue me."

The man turns to me, stunned and blinking. My coworkers are silent and gaping.

I step from behind the counter, my bag in hand and chin held high. _That's right, bitch. I'm taking my pride back._

"Miss Swan..." Jackson tries, but I don't give him a break.

"Just tally up all the overtime you had me doing this year - you know, those hours I never got paid for. You'll find your two weeks, I'm sure."

With that, I get inside the elevator and wait for the aluminum doors to close before bursting into laughs.

The weasel in mustard actually clapped.

~*~

_Edward_

Yet again I hesitate as I'm about to open the door. Instinctively, I know she's awake - I better go inside and apologize, in the hopes that I don't find my stuff packed in a corner already.

She's sitting on the floor, back against her bed, hands hovering over the computer resting on her legs. Looking straight at me with a calm expression I can't decipher.

_That's it. She's putting an end to our bunk bed relationship._

"I'm glad you're home," she starts. "Listen, I'm really sorry about what happened this morning, I just... I was asleep. I got you some dinner, I know you never get to eat properly at work..."

I don't know how to react, so I just close the door behind me.

"You don't need to do that. Truth is, I shouldn't have kissed you in the first place. It was a stupid idea," I tell her, and finally see what she got me. Lasagna, my favorite, something I wouldn't have expected her to remember.

"Truce?" Bella asks me, as if she'd ever need to ask.

I just smile at her and sit to her left, at a respectable distance, eating my late dinner.

"You know, if you keep this up, you'll have a fat house mate and you might have to surrender your bottom bunk," I joke, something I would say to her before this whole mess started, and her attempt at a laugh is ridiculous.

In fact, she starts crying.

"Bella, what's wrong?"

She doesn't answer me, just shaking her head and busying herself with putting the laptop away. And I remember something that might help.

I help her with the laptop, get up and hit the lights.

"What are you doing?"

She's sitting down in the dark, probably confused. I can still hear her sniffle.

I don't touch her, no matter how much I want to, using the little built in steps to hop up so I can lie down and face the ceiling.

~*~

_Bella_

Before I can ask him another question, I hear his voice:

"Tell me about it. I'm just a voice in the dark."

I blink through my tears, eyes readjusting to the dim light that the small windows allows entry to, and climb up to my own bed.

"You're not a voice in the dark, Edward. You're the guy I live with."

"So?"

"You'll see me differently."

"Have _you _seen me differently since I told you I didn't even go to college? Do you see me as less... intelligent, less worthy of your friendship? A loser?"

"No!" I yell, shocked that he even asked.

"That's what I was afraid of. And it didn't happen. If you had the guts to kiss me, you have the guts to spill. Do it."

I blush, glad that he can't see it.

"I _didn't_ have the guts to kiss you. I did it in my sleep."

"And was it me you were kissing in your sleep?" he insists, probing, and I groan.

"You suck at the voice in the dark thing, you know that?"

~*~

_Edward_

I have to laugh, even if disappointed that she wouldn't tell me.

_Maybe one day you'll know. Earn her trust._

I truly want to.

"I'll try harder. What happened?"

"I quit my job," Bella sighs beneath me.

"That's good! You were always talking about how much you hated it."

"Yeah, well... It still paid my bills. I have no safety net."

"You do. Your writing. You should get a professional to look at it..."

"What if I'm no good?" she asks, suddenly, despair and anger. "What if all my English Lit degree has qualified me for is to answer phones and schedule appointments?"

"I believe in your abilities. And if you're that... afraid of it, then go back to your job. I'm sure they'd take you back, you're the rock star receptionist."

"Not after calling my boss Dr. Jackass."

_She didn't..._

I imagine her for a couple of seconds, eyes blazing, standing up to the good doctor, and something inside me splits.

"Stop laughing!" she yells at me, kicking my mattress. Hard.

"Hey! Stop that!" I ask her, still trying to reign it in and sound a little more serious. "And come on, that was funny. It wasn't that embarrassing."

~*~

_Bella_

Not as embarrassing as kissing you in my sleep? Got that right.

"As if you had a worse work-related tale..."

"I do, actually," he contests. "One summer, I got tired of all the crap in Chicago and decided to spend two months away. In California."

_This should be interesting._

"What did you do?"

"I worked as a lifeguard," he stated, and I tried to ban all the Baywatch-ish images of a tanned Edward running around in red shorts. _Tight red shorts. _"First week there, I noticed this guy was struggling against the waves, sometimes disappearing under the water altogether. So I set off running, of course, and pull him out. He seemed unconscious at that point, so I... gave him mouth to mouth."

"Well... It's got to be an awkward thing to do to another man, but still, you probably saved his life," I counter, impressed.

"Not according to him. He punched me."

I find myself laughing as I try picturing the scene.

"And then I got fired. He told my boss I slipped him tongue."

"Did you?"

"NO!" he yells, and I roar in laughter. "My point is," Edward continues, in a cute annoyed voice that doesn't help me with calming down, "we all go through our share of embarrassments. It's perfectly natural. At least you got back at him for being a dick."

"I don't think I'm going back to that job," I admit, lighthearted and lightheaded. "Thank you, Edward."

"My pleasure," he answers me, extending a hand from his top bunk. I take it, letting the contact last and tracing his knuckles with my fingertips.

I fall asleep wondering when he stopped being a voice in the dark.

_Tight red shorts..._

In my dream, he's holding one of those white surfboards, stripped red to match his "work uniform" and running along the side of the beach.

"Your back... You should get out of the sun for a while, or you'll get burnt," he tells me, squatting near my towel. _Such a cute lifeguard..._

"It's a beach... any suggestions to where I might find some shade?"

The sunlight is strong in my eyes as I turn to see him, hovering over me with his hands on either side of my head.

"How is this?" Edward asks me, lilting voice barely over the sound of the waves, not far from us. I sigh, wanting to reach for him, but he's not there. _What the hell?_

I open my eyes, blinking against the strong light coming from the window. I'm hot and bothered, so I kick the sheets back in blinding frustration.

_Not nearly enough._

"You... Idiot!" I yell, delivering a strong kick with the sole of my feet to the wooden structure that supports the top bed. The bed where Edward must have slept peacefully this night before going to work, completely unaware of the effect his little _tale _had on me. "You wanted to help me get over my embarrassment, was it?! Well, there you have it," I spit out, purely venting, as I get up. "You've successfully managed to turn me into a horny mess! You and your stupid Californian tight red shorts, Mr. Mouth to Mouth!"

I get up, still fuming, but am suddenly frozen by the distinctive sound of a creaking mattress.

_No no no no nonono... Just no._

"Bella?! Why the hell did you kick my bed?" Edward asks me, and I turn to see him, rubbing away sleep from his eyes, red hair sticking in whichever direction. "What were you ranting about?"

"Nothing," I squeak. _I could have sworn it was late enough for him to be at work!_

"I distinctively head the words "horny mess" and "californian tight red shorts", Bella, don't lie to me..." he continues, in a sing-song voice, mocking me. "Did you dream about me again?"

I don't answer him, scurrying to hide in bed. With my sheets over my head, intending to stay that way for a _very _long time.

"You did, didn't you?" he teases, apparently having fun. _Idiot... _"Tell me, it's alright."

His patronizing behavior is making my skin crawl. Who does he think he is to treat me as if I'm just a silly girl with a crush?

The thought alone is enough for me to emerge from my blankets.

"Go to work, Edward... before I decide to make my dreams come true and tie you to that bed," I tell him, winking at him and enjoying his confusion.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you all for your supportive reviews! This is the second - and last part of the story. Hope you enjoy :)***

**Oh, and Pippapear will always be featured in my author's note. She's my literary sister and muse.**

~*~

_Edward_

_Where did my roommate go?_

That's the only thing going through my mind as I see her by my bed, looking like a hungry lion staring at a piece of Kobe beef.

"What?"

"I said you should go to work or face the consequences."

"I _might_," I rasp out, half expecting her to start laughing but really hoping she doesn't.

Her appeal is unique in itself, as she has this tendency to smile even when she's melancholic and go to the heart of every matter, solve it, and move on.

But now she's slipped into this seductress skin, and I'd be lying if I said it doesn't affect me. In every way.

Slipping right back into her normal role, she stalks off to the bathroom, pink little shorts hugging her form as she dances away.

Three weeks later, I'm _positive _she wants to destroy me. I just know it.

Now she's home during the day, except when she has a meeting. I know this isn't a bad thing - I'm actually impressed.

It's been three weeks since she quit, and something finally made her crack. She submitted her manuscript to just about every publisher she could think of, and her work caught the attention of a couple of them. Now, she has regular discussions with Emily, the editor she chose, as they fine-tune her chapters.

Bella is a couple of steps away from being a published author, and I'm not even surprised.

What destroys me, in fact, is the amount of time she now spends at home. Cooking me copious amounts of the best lasagna I ever had and other mouthwatering delicacies, walking around in tank tops and yoga pants, bending over to pick something up right in front of me...

Yes. My mind is in the gutter. It's been there long enough for me to grow used to it, and it's all her fault I feel like a gunpowder barrel about to explode.

I have to watch her go about her routine around me, and imagine her in the shower, skin sleek with water, one thin wall away. And repress the urge to get in there and pin her under me.

Tonight I have something to tell her, to ask of her. I'm calling upon the voice in the dark... wishing she wants to be more than that.

_I'm sick and tired of my bunk bed._

~*~

_Bella_

Things are looking up, and I'm tremendously happy. Yes, for the first time.

I'll get to see my book, bound and illustrated, neatly sitting in a bookstore's shelf - which my personal angel, Emily, is helping me with. And a nice fat check, to boot.

I'm not used to spending so much time at home, but being with Edward cuts the monotony of long hours to shreds. His quiet attention and humor is simply the easiest way to melt me away.

I might be spoiling him. I don't feel guilty for that, I'm not playing fair at all.

I'm afraid he'll change jobs, or just feel like moving away. I'm afraid I'll lose him.

He's not mine... except in my own fantasy world, where I get to do wicked things to him.

It probably doesn't help that I've peaked between my lids in the morning to see him tiptoeing around in his boxers, and seen the shape of his body everytime he stretched or lifted something heavy, even under his shirts.  
_  
Focus._

I want him to be mine - more than the physical, of course. But it complicates things. I don't believe him to be fickle, but his record speaks for itself - he's not the most stable individual in the world either. If I do make a move only to have him bolt, it'll hurt, but I don't care for this state of restlessness and rotten peace.

We won't be able to live together as friends anymore, after I do this. We either trade in the bunk beds for something a little more comfortable... Or his will be available again. Permanently.

~*~

_Edward_

"Honey, I'm home," I call out, only half-joking, as I come in. She grins, coy demeanor and bedroom eyes, the perfect impersonation of the vixen wife, making me groan under my breath. "How was your day?"

"Exhausting," she admits, cringing. "There's so much preparation involved, so many decisions to make and things to take care of... It's a bit overwhelming."

"Isn't it strange that I haven't read it yet? Your book?" I point out, finally having gathered the guts to do so. "Sometimes, I remember how much I don't know about you."

"You know enough," she cackles, a little bit nervous. "And you'll read it soon enough, I'll get you a copy."

"Signed," I demand. "That's going to be worth something in a few years."

She ignores me and moves to sit in front of me at the table, dishing beautifully cooked salmon with baby carrots.

"And what about you? How was work, darlin'?"

"It was nice," I answer her, not lying. "I've actually got some news about that, but we can talk about it after dinner."

Yes, she altered her sleeping patterns to match mine. She now wakes up and goes to bed at the same time as me, even if we do spend at least another hour just talking and joking in bed. Or, rather, in our separate beds, not nearly close enough to satisfy me, but just close enough to drive me insane.

Like I said, she wants to destroy me.

"What is it?"

Her question is tense, which surprises me. _Why is she scared?_

"I was offered two different jobs," I tell her, and she sinks down on the chair in front of me.

"Oh. Are you considering any of them?"

"I'm considering them both, anything is better than what I'm doing now."

She's growing pale. Something is off. So I decide to play, setting my fork down and deciding the meal can wait.

"You have a decision to make, Bella."

~*~

_Bella_

My worst fears are coming to life, it seems, and suddenly he tells me _I _have a decision to make.

"What decision?"

He's giving me that cocky grin that tells me he knows something I don't.

"You're going to chose which one of the jobs I take. On one hand, we have a promotion my current boss is offering me. As a manager, which is nice - better pay, health insurance and all."

"That's great!" I get out, relieved. He's not moving away - he's just been offered a promotion.

"I agree. On the other, this band that sometimes plays at the bar... They're looking for a pianist. They heard me play, they told me I'd do. It doesn't pay as well, forget the health insurance, and I'd be on the road for a portion of the year."

And that's it. _He just stabbed my heart and twisted the knife in._

"But you'd probably be happier..." I whisper without enthusiasm, bleeding. "You should take it."

"Before you make this decision, I should probably let you know that I'm in love with you," he blurts out in one exhale, as if breathing halfway through would make him falter.

I deadpan. He keeps going, hard face and serious, letting me know he's not playing.

"I'm honestly tired of running around. Management is a very, _very _nice position, and I'm more than ready to settle down. I'm twenty-seven years old, odd jobs aren't that fun anymore. I'll still get to play at the bar. And I'll get to come home every night... to you. _If _you want me to. If not, after hearing what I just told you, I'm taking the spot at the band," he explains, laying it all out for me. "So, as you can see, I really wasn't kidding when I said this was your decision."

Suddenly there's a heaviness to my shoulders that I hadn't felt in a long time, and find myself thinking aloud.

"You're in love with me?"

"Of course I am. How could I not be?"

~*~

_Edward_

She takes much too long to answer, and I get antsy. My calm facade is faltering - I didn't actually prepare myself to be rejected.

I just hoped to God that wouldn't be the case, but right now it just seems plain stupid - putting all of this pressure on her. A part of me wants to backtrack as fast as possible, but I can't just say something like «_I'm in love with you and want to base life changing decisions on those feelings» _and then say «_But hey, we can keep things casual.»_

"Are you sure you're not just in _lust _with me?" she finally asks me, voice slurred in sadness. Or indifference. _Or maybe uncomfortable about the way I put her on the spot..._

"That too, though I think it's a requirement," I try, still playing around like some jackass, trying to lighten the mood. "You don't need to say anything right now," I mumble, lying and hurt, because she's not answering me.

And, after five minutes of this, both of us shoving food around our plates, I can't sit there anymore and take it.

_You ruined what you had._

At least I took a chance at changing my reality, it just didn't work out.

I don't care that the bright light originating from the cheap lamp won't let me sleep - honestly, it doesn't matter. I won't get any sleep tonight anyway. I just kick my blanket off of me and rub my eyes, wishing I'd known this much two hours ago.

"Edward."

Her voice is quiet, and I can tell from the sound that she's standing by our beds. I don't answer, noticing she shut the lights.

"Can you be my voice in the dark again?"

Something inside me snaps, and I grow tired of simply being so naive. I've lived long enough to know that, sooner or later, disappointment is to be expected. And no one ever loves you for your beautiful fucking personality if there's no money and no promises of fuggly white picket fences and prosperity and babies. No one is interested in investing their time and effort in a _fuck up._

That's what I am. But I'd be one even more if I allowed myself to accept whatever is thrown at me.

"No, I'm not interested in being your voice anymore. Forget it," I bark at her, harshly.

"But I need to explain," she insists, and I feel the mattress shifting as she comes to sit on the foot of my bed, something she has never done before.

It enrages me further - because I don't know if it's pity or guilt that finally moves her to come closer. Either way, it's wrong.

"I don't need an explanation. I made myself clear, and so did you. Don't worry, this won't be awkward, I'll try to find another place as soon as possible..."

"Can you please just listen? You're good at it, I know, so just... bear with me. Because you've never read what I've written, and you _don't know."_

She got me there. I can feel my resolve to shut myself the hell away from this woman faltering, but it's still there.

"Spill."

At this she sighs, all relief that I don't understand, and lies down beside me, head to the foot of my bed, making me scoot over. There's barely enough space for the both of us.

"The book is about regret," she finally tells me. "It's about a couple that got married too fast, too young, and got pregnant because they were just too stupid. About the regret of the girl, that signed up for a small town life she didn't want and couldn't handle, and the guy's regret for doing that to her. It's about the personification of regret itself, the child, that was kicked back and forth from one home, where a middle aged man sat pining for a woman that had eventually left him, and another, where a middle aged woman pretended to be much younger so she wouldn't have to face her own responsibilities and mistakes."

"You're Regret," I mumble, understanding the story from the very little she told me of her past.

"I _was, _but I don't want that anymore. Being in love with you doesn't top the fact that, in one year, maybe less, you'll look back and then regret me because I was the reason you didn't go off with that band."

Bella's rushed explanation makes sense, as disgruntled as it is, because I know her. And she's so ridiculously insecure, at times.

"I'd never regret you, silly girl," I assure her, moving to pull her legs over me, still swelling over her admission. _This might just work._

~*~

_Bella_

I tell him my skewed version of a biography so he can understand my hesitance - but he just swats the whole thing away with such confidence that I find myself feeling safe.

My head is resting on his ankle and he's pulled my feet on top of his chest, which has turned my body into a slightly uncomfortable C.

"Are you sure managing a bar is really what you want?"

"For the time being," he answers me, light and carefree. It takes little to align his world, but the knowledge that my words, my love did that, is both empowering and sweetening.

"What now?" I hear myself ask.

"Now you'll tell me what that dream with the red shorts was about," he jokingly tells me, rubbing pleasurable circles on the sole of my feet with his calloused fingers.

It doesn't escape me for a second that I'm lying on his bed, and that everything is changed. We've lived together for two months - know each other's every quirk, from the brand of toothpaste to the way we fold our socks.

It's more than time he'd know what's been happening in my mind, behind my closed lids as I sleep. And that I'd let myself feel it, too.

I slip my feet out of his grasp and turn, hovering over his body so that my knees rest on each side of his thighs, barely touching the thin cotton of his pajama bottoms.

Between the palms of my hands, his head rests on the soft pillow, wide eyes open and staring at me, and I bless the bluish light of the night for allowing me to see that much.

"In my dream," I start, my voice steady and deep, "I'm at the beach, and you, in your red lifeguard shorts, are protecting me from getting sunburn."

"Like this?" Edward asks me, running his hands up and down my arms, reaching over my shoulders and affecting my balance.

"Like this."

"What then?"

"I tried reaching out to you for a kiss," I whisper, completely taken and aware of it, seeing and feeling his hands move to my collarbone and around my neck. "But you weren't there."

"Let's test that," he whispers back, pulling me ever so gently so our lips could touch. His are _wet, _plump and sinful, and I lose all sense of propriety. I feel the slow brushes of the rougher skin on my own, again and again, and we stare into each others' half-lidded eyes until he stops me.

"What is it?"

"This is all I'm good for... fantasies. The reality is a little short of the novel romance you expected."

I can feel him pull away, even if we're still an inch apart.

"Edward, insecurity is _my _skit. Get your own. The best part of my fantasies was waking up to you, because _you're _real, the voice in the dark is real, and all the wonderful things about you that others might not consider romance novel material... That's my novel. There's no other version of it I'd prefer."

~*~

_Edward_

After hearing her say it, hovering around me and making it impossible to truly concentrate, I can feel my body getting warmer and demanding contact. And I understand her point, because even if all of the many, many fantasies flash through my mind at the moment, this is _better._

"You must really love me," I breathe, and it doesn't come out as a joke.

Bella smiles in shades of blue, her warm brown hair cast raven by the night light and even her skin absorbs the tint. She looks like a mermaid, dragging me - the lifeguard in pajamas - with her to the depths of a warm ocean, and I'm having a hard time not letting go of my link to reality.

_Too soon. Focus. It's too soon, let her lead._

Her small, beautiful lips go to the skin of my neck, and she has her eyes closed as she traces it, pulling lightly on my hair to get better access.

I feel my hips contort and bite down on my tongue so that she won't see what she's doing, how insanely erotic this is for me. But I can't repress a moan when she bites down and drags her tongue over the skin, sucking over my pulse point, making me squirm and pant my breaths.

_Evil mermaid. Bad, bad mermaid._

My neck is definitely marked by the time she relents, or so I think, before her mouth is on mine, pulling my bottom lip between her teeth and dragging her sweet tongue over it. After that, we just gasp in between open mouthed kisses, willing tongues entwining in each other's mouths, setting a distinctive rhythm that drives me insane.

I'm letting her set the pace for everything - what scares me is she seems about as turned on as I am and I can't stop it. I won't.

_Feels so good..._

My hands roam the junction of her hips and thighs, and I allow my thumbs to slip into the elastic band of her shorts and stroke the sensitive skin above her hipbones, impossibly soft. I justify it to myself: _this is the only tiny little bit of pushing I'll ever do._

But, apparently, it's enough.

I feel her arm going around my neck and pulling me closer - and that one inch that separates us suddenly evaporates. I can feel her soft, perfectly full chest coming in contact with my own and worse - so much worse - her hips grinding into mine.

My head falls back and my mouth is agape in a silent scream of pleasure, reduced to an exhale until there's nothing left in my lungs.

There is no way she doesn't know what she's doing to me, and yet she does it again, aligning herself, soft where I am hard, both of us forge hot. I move my hands to her sides, and even with clothes between us, the friction is unbelievable.

"Bella," I gasp out, halting her movements, and she mewls above me, beautiful and flushed, in protest. _Why am I stopping her? _My body is begging me to just curl my fingers into her soft flesh and press her down on me, but I manage to cut through my lust-induced stupor for a second. "I'm too... maybe we should slow down, because in a minute I might not be able to," I babble as, inside my head, my nether regions protest. Violently.

"I can't slow down," she whispers to my neck, her voice nothing but sex, trailing open mouthed kisses near my ear, "and if you do, _you'll _have to stop _me._"

"_Fuck me_," I exhale, feeling my traitorous fingers curl around her soft form and my hips bucking.

_Drag me to the bottom of the sea, and I'll die a happy sailor._

~*~

_Bella_

The simple profanity on his lips sounds almost like a prayer, and I let him lie down, strong hands on my body, so I can slip my tank off, getting rid of my bra a second later. He whispers something I can't distinguish, my brain wrapping itself around the pleasure cursing through my body.

Nothing ever felt this good, and we haven't gotten rid of all our clothes yet. _What have I been thinking these past two months?_

He explores my breasts with his hands and his wet mouth, his face lost between white expanses of skin and my curtains of dark hair. All the while I keep pressing onto him, teetering on edge, almost there. I'm blind in need to the point of pain.

A rough, large hand, trails from my left breast down, down, under the elastic band again, and I can't muffle anything that comes out of my mouth, though I try. As soon as the heel of that beautiful hand touches my sweet spot, I come crashing down from that high, staring into the green eyes and open mouth of a man completely oblivious to his own pleasure, if for seconds.

Edward looks up at me in awe, and the power of that knowledge, of having him adore me like a lover and a goddess, wraps around my spine and grounds me, making me shake.

I'm welcome into his arms, still partially on top of him in the small mattress. But the temporary relief doesn't suffice, the need and the desperation are still there, and I wonder, as I make quick work of his pajama pants and mine, if anything ever will.

He's kneeling between my legs and turned halfway to the small steps when I stop him.

"Where are you going?" my voice low and demanding, as I fight off the need to rub my thighs and ease the tension.

"Condom," he whispers, hands on my legs and dilated pupils. The surge of power crashes again, as I realize _I _am the one reducing him to one-word answers and obvious physical need.

"I'm on the pill," I counter, shaking my head and pulling him on top of me. He jumps slightly in surprise when he feels my toes hooking into the waistband of his boxers and dragging them down his legs but then just groans, loudly, surrendering.

But when it comes down to tangle my body with his, skin on skin, I can find something else in his touches. Something beside desire, lust, need - although those are all there. I can find sweetness in his touches, in the way the nuzzles the skin of my collarbone, in the way he still handles me with the tip of his fingers, no matter how much I can feel he wants to dig in.

And no matter how much it makes me want him all the more, it makes me love him all the more as well.

He's _holding me _as he enters me fully, our lips joined and still fighting, but the rest of our bodies find its harmony quickly. His skin waves above my own, rising and falling, creating the delicious friction and building heat, a crescendo leading to an inevitable ending that I chase, and yet don't yearn for. It's like nothing I've ever experienced. My lips are saturated with his taste and scent, soap and smoke, and my lungs drink his breaths above me, even as he starts panting and groaning them out.

Edward pulls me up so I'm sitting in his lap, our dance never breaking, and the shift causes me to claw at his back, unaware of anything and everything else as I contract around him and he spills within me.

I just let myself be hugged and kissed and loved for however long he chooses to before looking up to his beautiful face, entranced, happy and in love.

"Thank you so much for letting me move in two months ago, Bella," he tells me, kissing my forehead and tucking my head on the crook of his neck. I inhale, greedy as ever, before acquiescing.

"It's the best decision I ever made."

Suddenly he shifts, cute behind scooting over so we won't tumble down the top bunk bed.

"But we do need to get a new bed," he laughs, a little nervous in my ear.

"Yes, this was a little dangerous," I agree, looking down. "But, in the meantime, we have the bottom bunk."

He smiles against my cheek.

"And the kitchen table."

"And the shower."

"Hmm... taking my mermaid in the shower..." he lingers, dreamily, and I quirk an eyebrow, wondering if he has a thing for mermaids.

"But only if you wear red shorts for me. _Tight _red shorts."

"_Aye aye," _he agrees, weaving his hands through my hair.

~*~

_Edward_

It's been four months since we finally talked about our feelings, among... other activities, and I'm a complete mess.

I don't particularly like being stuffed in a tuxedo, but, judging by the way women have been undressing me with her eyes tonight, it's a safe bet that I don't look completely like an idiot playing dress up. Which is how I feel.

This party is crowded and I'd rather be mixing drinks at the bar but someone else is taking care of that, now.

I'm being supportive of Bella's success, and living through a stuck-up party her publisher is throwing in honor of her book release is a very small price to pay to see her happy. Still, her moods have been swinging from the chandelier lately, with the stress that comes with finally having the book out, and I'm really hoping today is the start of new and calmer times.

That's why I can't stay calm myself, until I see her, pinned up hair and midnight blue gown, stunning as she walks in, center-stage, very nervous but pulling it together.

I feel my face splitting into a wide grin. _That's my girl._

Her little speech is meant to thank anyone and everyone that helped her, especially Emily, naturally.

At the sound of applause she breathes again, and so do I, getting near the stage so I can accompany her.

"That wasn't so bad," I tell her, as she was positive she'd somehow pull a move so ungraceful she'd end up falling and flashing her panties to the entire room, further jeopardizing her success as a writer and any chances of a second book deal.

"I was shaking."

"It didn't show."

I'm polite and graceful as we "work" the crowd, and Bella never skips a beat, introducing me as her boyfriend and including me in the conversation. She's not relaxing yet, but maybe one day she'll realize how good she is at this.

The book cover is finally unveiled at midnight, and people come up to ask for an autograph, swamping her.

I'm perfectly content with nursing my flute of champagne and waiting for the crowd to finally thin out enough for her to slip away unnoticed.

_And now I'm the nervous one._

On the walk to the car, she's holding a copy, shy and uncharacteristically avoiding my eyes.

_Did she see it? Why is she nervous?_

"Bella?" I finally find the courage to ask as we enter the new car I bought.

"I... This is for you," she finally tells me, tossing the book at me like it's on fire, and I recognize the pretty cover, red and yellow, neatly bound.

"I've already read it," I counter, confused. _And loved it, _I add, mentally.

"Not the author's note," she gulps, and I open it immediately, anxious to see what she wrote.

The first lines are, again, dedicated to Emily, and her parents come second, a touching gesture.

But the third line, and shortest of the three, is the most cryptic and meaningful.

In flowing italic it reads:

_And at last, to my bunk bed companion, the man I love, for helping me take the risky path to happiness._

My mouth is on hers before she can blink, and now, it doesn't even matter.

I even start laughing.

"What is it?" Bella asks me, confused.

"I love you - and my author's note, thank you," I tell her, even though all I want to tell her is that I'm relieved.

That now I can reach into my pocket with steady hands and take out the ring and ask her to be my wife - knowing that she feels the same need to proclaim to the world just how much of an influence we have on each other.

She wrote it in ink.

And, seconds later, I write it in words, my proposal shocking her but still quickly accepted. It's my offer to give her anything and everything, just as she once did, by simply opening her door to me.


End file.
